- Excerpt-
Callie Love & Ann Omasta, USA Today Bestselling Author
Chapter 1 - Maggie
I am hideous. And, no, I don’t say that just to get attention or false compliments. I’m truly ugly. I hate looking in the mirror. Every time I catch a glimpse of my reflection, I want to shatter the glass with my fist.
It hasn’t always been this way for me. I mean, I was never going to be on the cover of Vogue magazine, but I used to be passably attractive. Children wouldn’t run screaming from the room when I entered, like they would now, if their parents didn’t hiss at them to behave.
Although I’m aware that it could be much worse, I can’t seem to stop wallowing. I know I sound ungrateful. I’m lucky to be alive after being trapped in a burning building, but I certainly didn’t escape unscathed.
I glare down at the scars that snake along the back of my right hand and up over my arm and shoulder. The raised skin is ugly and anyone who tries to tell me otherwise is a liar.
If the burns were only on my arm, I might be able to deal with it better. But, no, they stretch onto my chest, up my neck, and even onto a portion of my jawline and cheek. No amount of makeup or prim clothing can completely cover my scars––despite my best efforts.
I would be perfectly content to live out the rest of my life hiding in my apartment, ordering take-out, and binging Netflix. It would probably even be the considerate thing to do, so I don’t put anyone else in the awkward position of having to pretend like my scars aren’t that bad.
Even though I understand why people lie or act like they don’t see the scars, it is infuriating. I probably would have done the same thing before the fire. After all, it’s not like you can gasp and ask, “What happened to your skin?!?” But I truly believe the avoidance and fake platitudes feel even worse than that kind of brutal honesty would.
My friend and former co-worker, Ciara, won’t let me turn into a hermit. I know her heart is in the right place, but I really just wish she would leave me alone.
I hate myself for being jealous of Ciara, but the fire that left me a scarred monster brought her handsome and loving fireman fiancé into her life. I’m not sure what kind of horrid karma caused that stinking, steaming dump on my doorstep, but it sure doesn’t seem fair.
Ciara’s a great person. She deserves to be happy. But I do, too, right?
I’ve done everything I can think of to make myself presentable for tonight’s inaugural book club meeting, but nothing helps. My Granny used to say something about ‘putting lipstick on a pig.’ That perfectly describes my efforts. No matter what I do, all anyone will see is my scars.
As much as I’d love to text Ciara claiming a headache, I don’t want to disappoint her by not going tonight. My guess is that she’s pulling this entire event together to get me out of the house. Yes, she’s truly that kindhearted and thoughtful. I didn’t say that she doesn’t deserve her sexy fireman, but I’m not sure why I deserve to be so grotesque that no man will ever want me.
When Ciara texts to see if I need a ride, I respond that I’m on my way before grabbing the book we were assigned to read and heading out the door.
Evie’s Bar & Grill is a comfortable meeting place and the group of women Ciara has invited are all bubbly and friendly, but I still feel awkward.
Beauty shines through on the other ladies’ faces. They are very welcoming as I sit in the only vacant chair at the tall table, but I know they are thinking how grateful they are that they don’t look like me.
When I retrieve the book from my purse and set it on the table, Ciara makes an uncomfortable face before asking, “You actually read the book, didn’t you?”
“Of course, this is a book club, right?” I answer.
“Technically, yes,” Ciara nods. “But it’s really more of an excuse to get together for a cocktail or two and gossip.”
I angle a narrow-eyed, fake glare at her before asking, “You mean I read that awful book for nothing?”
She lets out a throaty laugh, which is contagious. Soon, the other women begin fessing up that they didn’t bother reading the book.
The bar’s proprietor, Evie, delivers an enormous, fruity, frozen drink to me. “If you ladies are looking for good books to read, you should ask Adam for recommendations.”
Her gaze darts over to the hunky librarian before she quietly reveals, “He reads sexy passages to me every night before bed.”
“Yum!” one of the other women purrs. “Even I could get into reading under those conditions.”
“Mm-hmm,” Evie murmurs before heading back behind the bar. I try to keep my rampant jealousy in check.
“Let’s get to the real reason for our little get-together,” Ciara leans in conspiratorially before turning her gaze to her friend, Phoebe.
Phoebe says in an excited tone, “As you all know, I had you fill out a questionnaire to help me beta test my new matchmaking application.”
I suddenly feel like a lost puppy. This is the first I’ve heard of the app. I’m hurt that Ciara didn’t tell me about this. She probably knew I wouldn’t come because I have no desire to be matched. I’m never dating again, but I still hate being left completely out of the loop.
Phoebe continues on, obviously having no idea of the turmoil raging inside me. “I selected the first bachelor for our January meeting, since we wanted to start right away. My cousin, Jett, is a total catch. I would date him myself, if we didn’t fall from the same family tree.”
I’m trying to figure out a way to slip out of here without being noticed. The last thing I want is to pretend to be happy for these lovely ladies as they each find their one true love, while I remain all alone.
I take a giant slurp from my drink, intending to down it and hightail it out of here. Brain freeze hits and has me palming my forehead as Phoebe says, “The woman who is scientifically the best match for Jett is… drumroll please…”
She pauses dramatically, and I feel like rolling my eyes. I truly don’t care which of these beauties matches with her sexy cousin.
“Maggie!” she shouts.
My eyes nearly pop out of my head as all eyes at the table turn to look at me. The women are squealing with delight, but my face morphs into a frown. I shake my head. “But I didn’t fill out anything.”
Ciara’s gaze turns sheepish, and I immediately know what has happened. I glare at my friend, who obviously filled out the survey for me, and say, “Please tell me you didn’t…”
